


Magnus Bane and the (Durmstrang) Institute

by redhairandahandmedownrobe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Animagus, Durmstrang, M/M, animagus!Magnus, head boy!alec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-01-05 22:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12198864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhairandahandmedownrobe/pseuds/redhairandahandmedownrobe
Summary: After exposing himself as an unregistered Animagus, Magnus Bane is threatened with a sentence in Azkaban. Thankfully, his long-time guardian Minerva McGonagall calls in a favour with the new head of the Durmstrang Institute, and arranges for him to transfer there for his final year. Cue the entire Shadowhunters cast as Eastern-European witches/wizards, Martial Magic, and Malek fluff (yep, the k is intentional).Started for Shadowhunters AU Mondays, although probably waaay longer than necessary. All characters and locations are property of Cassandra Clare and/or J.K. Rowling.





	1. Meeting Nadezhda Vulchanova

**Author's Note:**

> Ok don't hate me, but we never actually meet Alek in this chapter (but guess who is kickass at Martial Magic, of course). 
> 
> This entire story is set in 2006, 8 years after the battle of Hogwarts. All dates of birth for the Shadowhunters characters are from Shadowhunterswiki, sorry if this is slightly dodge. 
> 
> In this AU, Percy Weasley is sent as an ambassador to Eastern Europe in his late 20s, along with his future wife, Audrey, where they both teach at the newly reformed Durmstrang. Sue me. 
> 
> All and any comments welcomed, although I have the mains story arc set out, so prompts may be taken with a pinch of salt. Enjoy!

Magnus Bane traced the lines deeply carved into the stone, recognising the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. If he remembered Bathilda Bagshot correctly, and to be honest that wasn’t a given, it had been carved here by Gellert Grindelwald in 1899. Fixed on the wall over a century later, it was another reminder to Magnus of the history of the place he found himself in: Durmstrang castle. Absent-mindedly he wondered why the carving was here, on the top floor of the castle, in a corridor that seemed mostly abandoned apart the bolted, black wooden door at the end.

Magnus sighed, scruffing a corner of his new black boots against the stone wall. He knew Professor McGonagall had gone to a lot of effort to get him into Durmstrang, and that the Wizengamot had been extremely lenient in scratching it from his record. Having turned 17 earlier that year, he’d been tried as an adult, and could have faced real time in Azkaban. Still, that didn’t stop him missing Hogwarts. He fingered the bright scarlet woollen robes his new guardians had placed him in, smiling a little at the bright colour, and imagining what his old potions partner would say at him in Gryffindor colours. 

 _Raphael._ He’d miss him if no-one else. Perhaps Professor Flitwick would promote him to Ravenclaw prefect in his absence.

Magnus’ train of thought was interrupted by expansive system of bolts on the door, which began clunking as they were unlocked from the inside. After what seemed like an unnecessary amount of time, they came to a rest and the door was flung open by a middle-aged witch with wild red hair.

What she lacked in stature, she more than made up for in style, with spikey-heeled black boots, buckled up to the top of her calves, and a thick fur robe, strung over one shoulder by a leather strap, which augmented her small, compact frame.

Still, despite the almost impossible height of her boots (Magnus was quite sure they’d had at least a stability charm placed on them), she barely reached his height.

As she turned around to catch sight of Magnus, her dark lips, previously pursed stark against her pale skin, broadened into a surprisingly warm smile.

“Magnus Bane, I presume?” she asked, in flawless, unaccented English. Magnus nodded, and she stretched out a pale hand, nails painted to match her lips.

“Nadezhda Vulchanova, headmistress of the Durmstrang Institute. Minerva’s told me so much about you; please, do come in.” She wheeled around abruptly, allowing Magnus to follow her into an open, wooden-panelled room, which was dominated by a large desk.

Unlike Professor McGonagall’s desk, which seemed to have about six different filing systems, Vulchanova’s desk was piled with scrolls of parchment, which, as she waved her wand, returning to the leather chair behind, flew to various shelves on the right-hand wall.

Magnus scanned the room, noticing a large portrait of an older, red-haired witch behind the desk, whose dark lips were pursed in a familiar way as she eyed him, before realising the entire left wall was covered by a vast window, displaying a vast icy sea covered in haze. Down by the shore line Magnus could make out the sails of a large ship, whose white sails bore the scarlet double headed eagle of Durmstrang’s crest.

This was the first time Magnus had caught sight of Durmstrang’s surroundings, since the portkey he’d grabbed hold of in London had brought him straight to the corridor outside the castle, and he had to admit they had a raw beauty to them.

Vulchanova smiled as she caught his gaze.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? My ancestor Nerida certainly picked the right spot for the Institute.” She waved a hand in the direction of the portrait behind her, which Magnus noticed had moved, watching the sea with an almost wistful look.

Vulchanova gestured to the wooden chair in front of her desk, and Magnus took a seat, watching with some trepidation as Vulchanova conjured up two steaming mugs of liquid and waved her wand door behind him, whose bolts clunked their way back across. She offered him one, and he sniffed it suspiciously, finding, to his surprise, that it was distinctly alcoholic.

“Mulled wine from the kitchens,” Vulchanova smiled motioning him to take a sip. “It’s so cold here that we drink it quite often, not that it’s particularly alcoholic.”

Her eyes dipped towards Magnus’ fingernails, which, despite now being wrapped around the steaming mug, remained stubbornly blue-tinged. She aimed her wand behind her, and, with a conspiratorial wink, lit a fire in a small alcove beneath the portrait.

“Fires in the Institute are technically reserved for magical purposes, but being headmistress has some perks.”

Magnus gave her a small smile, before noticing for the first time that one of the parchment scrolls had remained on the desk. Vulchanova smoothed it out, and Magnus recognised the elegant loops of Professor McGonagall’s handwriting.

Vulchanova’s eyes quickly scanned the letter, her lips returning once more to their pursed state, and her dark eyebrows furrowing as she read further and further down.

Magnus’ stomach sunk. Whatever McGonagall had written, he doubted it was particularly kind. He’d disappointed her, well and truly, by getting expelled from Hogwarts.

And after she’d put so much faith in him, visited him regularly in the orphanage in Madrid, and allowed him to stay in Hogwarts over the holidays.

Lowering his eyes into his mug, he missed Vulchanova’s expression as she read the final paragraph of McGonagall’s letter, which passed through begrudging admiration to the same warmth that had surprised him moments earlier.

As she set the letter aside, however, her expression returned to the determined set it had been before, the warmth retained only in her dark eyes.

“So, welcome to the Institute, Magnus. You may know us back in the U.K. as ‘Durmstrang’, but since I took over from Igor Karkaroff, and the headship returned to the Vulchanov family, we’ve been restoring our international image. I find ‘the Institute’ fits us better now we longer teach the old Germanic curriculum of Dark Magic. That’s why I asked Percy Weasley to come work here for a few years; before the Battle of Hogwarts, I’d come across his work through the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

Magnus barely resisted rolling his eyes at the mention of his new guardian, who had scarcely stopped speaking about his roles with the Ministry of Magic and the Combined Legislative Assembly of Volkhvs of Europe (CLAVE), whose headquarters, like Durmstrang, were in North-Eastern Europe.

“However,” Vulchanova continued, her eyes narrowing for a moment, “do not think for a moment that our spotted history will allow for a lenient approach to your recent transgressions.”

Magnus raised his chin, his kohl-lined eyes meeting her gaze with quiet defiance.

Vulchanova did not waver, and he could have sworn her hair grew even larger as it was illuminated by the flickering fire behind her.

“If I hear reports of you selling restricted substances – Alihotsy leaves, Firewhiskey, Mandrake leaves, anything – I will be forced to expel you from the Institute, and you can say goodbye any chance of finishing your NEWTs.”

Magnus glowered, but Vulchanova continued.

“That goes double fold for any reports of there being a student Animagus.” Magnus’ eyes flashed briefly, giving away his surprise.

“They don’t know?” he asked, all traces of obstinance gone from his jawline.

Vulchanova’s eyes softened once more.

“No, and I don’t intend it to be public knowledge. I realise you’re registered with the Ministry following your trial, but I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from using your Animagus form within the Institute, and certainly not in front of any other students.”

Magnus nodded silently, his eyes clouding over once more as he recalled the events of his final day at Hogwarts.

“Of course, Professor Weasley and Professor MacMillan are aware of your skill, but they can be relied upon to keep it to themselves,” Vulchanova continued, and Magnus remembered the blonde witch who had accompanied them from London, who had introduced herself as Audrey MacMillan. Percy had been almost unable to contain himself around her, and Magnus suspected a great deal of his stories about the CLAVE were for her benefit rather than his.

Of course they both knew of his ability, he groaned internally, he doubted anyone with a connection to Hogwarts could have missed hearing about the calamitous House Feast, the head girl’s speech, and Magnus’ hasty exit on all fours.

Which meant they probably knew everything that had been said in that speech, including some things he’d really rather keep hidden.

“They won’t gossip, Magnus,” Vulchanova said softly, and Magnus realised his face had been betraying his inner turmoil.

“No one at the institute is aware of your father’s name, and I intend to keep it that way,” she said firmly, and Magnus was unable to hide the relief that crossed his face.

“Not that it wouldn’t have made your acceptance a bit easier if they had,” Vulchanova added with a wry smile, “there are certain individuals among our governors who still hold your father in good respect.”

Magnus swallowed the lump in his throat, his face the carefully practiced picture of impassivity he always adopted when hearing about his father’s history.

Vulchanova’s face retained more of her warmth this time, as she finished the mug of wine she was holding, rising to her feet with a graceful swish of her long, fur robe.

“Enough of threats and promises,” she smiled, waving her wand to the door, “let me show you around before second period.”

She handed him a small brown folder, the first page which Magnus could make out as his timetable, and strode toward the door. As she threw it open once more, which Magnus now realised was probably due to its sheer weight rather than any particular exuberance, he finished the remainder of his wine and turned to follow, casting one last glace out the window to the sea.

He couldn’t shake the longing for Hogwarts, but if Nadezhda Vulchanova was anything to go by, Durmstrang, or rather ‘The Institute’, was going to be far from what he’d expected.

Not that Magnus had known what to expect after being dragged to a different continent by portkey, accompanied by a new (Ministry-assigned) guardian, to finish his NEWTs at the only school in the wizarding world who was willing to accept him.

“Come along,” Vulchanova interrupted his thoughts, flashing a bright smile as she waited for him at the doorway, “if we’re quick, you can catch the end of the fifth-form Martial Magic class – I was hoping you might consider taking an additional OWL this year.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow at the mention of Martial Magic, but moved across the room faster than his usual feigned nonchalance would allow.

It was _definitely_ not what he expected, but an OWL in Martial Magic sounded undeniably badass.


	2. An Introduction to Martial Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus gets a tour of the Institute, and happens upon a certain tall, dark, handsome head boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the incredibly long wait, but finally got some time to write this!

Magnus followed Vulchanova down the corridor, struggling to keep up with her despite her lethal footwear.

“Professor McGonagall informs me you’d been studying Ancient Runes, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration. You’ll be glad to know you can carry on with the same NEWTs here, our new curriculum is fairly similar Hogwarts’.”

“So you do offer Defence Against the Dark Arts and not Dark Arts?”

Magnus regretted his question immediately as Vulchanova came to an abrupt halt and turned to face him.

“The Dark Arts are no longer taught at the Institute, Bane, and our Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum has had considerable rehaul by Professor MacMillan. Perhaps you would be so kind as to not believe everything the Daily Prophet reports about the Institute, and begin the school year with an open mind.”

Magnus stuttered out some kind of agreement and Vulchanova whipped around once more, pointing out Professor MacMillan’s classroom on their left just before they approached a courtyard. Her directions to Magnus’ various classrooms were lightning fast, and he barely had time to register them, but all the same Magnus nodded when Vulchanova asked him if the tour was clear enough.

At the very least, asking for directions would be a way to meet people, and he was keen to find out what this Martial Magic class might look like.

“Shall we?” Vulchanova flashed a brilliant smile at him, gesturing towards an archway which Magnus supposed led to the next stop on the tour, and he sighed an inward sigh of relief that his questions hadn’t seemed to harm her good mood.

The Martial Magic classroom was somewhat less of a room than Magnus was expecting. Through the archway, there was a sudden open space, across which Magnus caught sight of the lake again. Before the steps down to the harbour, there was a large fenced off training area, framed by silvery trees, in which a class of students was gathered around what Magnus presumed was a professor.

Professor Starkweather, as his timetable informed him he was called, certainly didn’t look like any of the professors at Hogwarts. His sleeveless tunic laid bare his arms, which were covered in scars and runic tattoos, and, despite the leather binding that covered most of his forearms, Magnus was certain he must be superhuman to withstand the cold. Maybe he had stronger mulled wine.

As Vulchanova ushered him closer Magnus realised they’d happened upon a demonstration of sorts.

“Now since this is your first OWL class, a good many of you will have never bound your wand before.”

Starkweather extended his right arm towards the crowd, and Magnus realised that the leather binding served another purpose other than insulation. Starkweather’s wand was partially concealed beneath the binding, emerging to run across his palm and finishing with the tip of his index finger, so that, when his arm was rotated, it was almost completely hidden.

“We bind our wands during martial magic for two main purposes. Firstly, it prevents you losing your wand to a simple _expelliarmus_ , and secondly, it allows for greater bodily movement, and close quarters duelling.

“Most of you won’t bind the entire forearm as I’ve done here, as it takes a fair bit of practice, so today we’ll be looking at a simpler bind method, which our head boy has kindly agreed to demonstrate.”

A tall pale figure stepped out from the shadows of the trees behind Starkweather, and Magnus eyed him with appreciation. The head boy was over 6 foot of lean, muscled, raven-haired goodness, and Magnus smirked as he saw a number of the girls visibly melt as the taller boy scanned the crowd. Blue eyes and black hair, a deadly combination.

As the head boy demonstrated his (notably simpler) binding system, Magnus was transfixed by his hands. Long, pale fingers expertly wrapped first scarlet fabric, and then deep brown leather around his wand, securing it to his wand hand as Hodge talked over every step, the boy himself remaining remarkably taciturn.

Looking around, Magnus noticed all the watching students held, alongside their wands, a strip of fabric and some length of leather in varying colours. Vulchanova noticed his glances and smiled. Earlier she had arranged for some wand binding equipment to be left on Magnus’ bed. Somehow she imagined the violently purple silk might be to his tastes.

As the students broke up into smaller groups and attempted to help each other bind their wands to their wrists, Vulchanova beckoned the head boy over, who picked up a book satchel and a brown folder to match the one Magnus had been given earlier before practically marching up to Vulchanova.

“Ledovskoy, allow me to introduce Magnus Bane, our new transfer student from Hogwarts”

Magnus stretched forward his hand to shake the boy’s hand before remembering there was a wand attached to it, and that might not be the best idea. The boy handn’t moved from his rigid stance, though his head seemed to dip slightly to apologise for not being able to shake his hand.

“Ledovskoy,” Magnus repeated, the name sounding familiar, “like Russian ambassador for the CLAVE Ledovskoy?”

Any light that might have been in the boy’s blue eyes seemed to dim and he responded curtly,

“Yes, my mother is Mariya Ledovskoy, and my father teaches Ancient Runes here”.

Somehow Magnus felt like he’d misspoken, and he paused, unusually at a loss for words.

“Ledovskoy is in his final year, like you, but he comes to help Professor Starkweather out whenever he can, especially if it means he can train with his sister,”

Vulchanova nodded to where a raven-haired girl was expertly helping a friend bind her wand, her own already fastened to her hand with the same leather as her brothers. Magnus raised an eyebrow as he noticed her lipstick, two or three shades darker than the school cloaks, and her heels, which threatened to rival Vulchanova’s. Perhaps someone in this school knew how to dress, and clearly ‘tall, dark and handsome’ ran in the family.

“Seeing as you both have Ancient Runes next, I was hoping you could help Bane settle in. I’ve put him in the ground-floor dormitory with you and Janek too, so perhaps you could show him there after school.”

Ledovskoy nodded at Vulchanova and Magnus half expected him to salute. The Institute was almost comically militaristic, and what was with the referring to everyone by their last name? Magnus wasn’t particularly enamoured by his last name, providing the only concrete link to his father, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want pretty boy to think of him as the ‘bane’ of anything.

As the OWL class seemed to finish up, Ledovskoy’s sister came bounding over to her brother, accompanied by a smaller redhead, and Vulchanova greeted them both with her brilliant smile. Clearly the younger Ledovskoy was an Institute favourite as well.

“Well Bane, it’s high time I got back to office, so I’ll leave you in capable hands. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for Transfiguration, if not dinner.” Vulchanova swept back into the castle, and Magnus was left alone with the two Ledovskoys and the redhead, all of whom were unbinding their wands in preparation for their next lessons.

The dark-haired girl thrust out a hand and Magnus took it, pleased to find her smile warm and enthusiastic.

“Yelizaveta Ledovskoy, but you can call me Izzy,” she grinned, amused by Magnus’ reaction to the lengthy name. “This is Klara, and I trust you’ve met my dork of a brother.”

Magnus glanced at the older Ledovskoy and was pleasantly surprised to see his seemingly impenetrable stance had relaxed as he watched his sister talk. His face was even approaching something that might be called a smile, if Magnus was being very generous.

“Yes, thanks Izzy, but we should probably get to Runes class, dad doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Ledovskoy turned to the redhead, who looked considerably less at ease than her friend.

“And Klara, if you’re having trouble catching up, ask me or Starkweather for help. Izzy shouldn’t be distracted from her own work”.

Klara lowered her eyes and Izzy rolled her eyes at her brother, sweeping her friend away with an apologetic smile at Magnus. As Magnus fell in step next to Ledovskoy he frowned to himself, confused by Ledovskoy’s reaction.

“Klara was raised as a muggle, and only started the Institute last year,” Ledovskoy announced suddenly, seeming to read Magnus’ mind. “She’s behind most classes, and my sister is too kind to say no when she asks for help.”

“It must be hard, starting the Institute late with no one helping her”, Magnus ventured, and a shadow seems to cross Ledovskoy’s face. Again, Magnus worried he’d somehow misspoken, but Ledovskoy shrugged his shoulders.

“It was her family’s decision to keep her in muggle school so late, so it’s not as if it’s the Institute’s responsibility to help her catch up.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows at that, but recognised a lost battle when he saw one.

“Well, at least I’m not the only new kid,” he added, and Ledovskoy turned to look at him for the first time since they’d left the training grounds.

“She’s not like you, Bane, she hasn’t had 6 years at Hogwarts to ground her.”

Magnus rolled his eyes at that.

“Please, call me Magnus, I can’t abide this mock military crap.” Ledovskoy looked slightly taken aback at his very light swearword, and Magnus supressed a grin at all the different ways he could shock the straight-laced head boy.

“And I’m presuming you have an actual name too?”

“Aleksandr,” Ledovskoy replied, and then continued, seeming to surprise himself with the admission, “but everyone calls me Alek.”

“Well, Aleksandr, we can’t have you thinking of me as everyone, can we?”

Magnus caught his gaze and winked slowly and deliberately. Ledovskoy almost missed a step as they climbed a staircase and appeared to be suddenly fixated on his own timetable, as if he wasn’t sure where his own father’s classroom was.

As Magnus continued watched him out the corner of his eye, he noticed the taller boy’s cheeks were stained with a slight blush. Alek was clearly less impenetrable than he let on, and that blush really did wonders for his colouring.

Maybe with tall, dark and handsome this year wouldn’t be so boring after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, any (helpful) comments appreciated!


End file.
